


The Sweet Hello, The Sad Goodbye

by BeckyConda



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M, Stiles and Derek aren't officially together in this, but let's face it they basically are, don't hate me, first off I'm super sorry for this I don't know what came over me, it's painfully obvious that they have feelings for each other, this hurts me as much as it probably hurts you to read this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-24
Updated: 2015-02-24
Packaged: 2018-03-14 20:47:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3425021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BeckyConda/pseuds/BeckyConda
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"We have to do something!" Derek snaps, turning around to glare at the teenager in front of him. Why isn't Scott trying to help? Why is he just standing there whilst his best friend is dying? Does he want to lose Stiles? </p><p>"There's nothing we can do, Derek," Scott says, staring back at him helplessly. </p><p>"I can give him the bite," Derek suggests, running a hand over his tired face. He hasn't slept much at all in the past few months, it almost reminds him of the sleepless nights he spent mourning Laura’s death. Except he isn't mourning Stiles’ death.</p><p>Not yet, anyway.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Sweet Hello, The Sad Goodbye

**Author's Note:**

> I'm super super super sorry, I can't add enough supers to explain just how sorry I am for this.
> 
> I don't really know why I wrote this, the idea just got in my head a few years ago when I first started watching Teen Wolf and literally tripped and fell onto the Sterek ship along with probably 99% of the fandom, and I just had to write it. I came across it not too long ago and ended up finishing it. Derek and/or Stiles upset is something I write a hell of a lot better than either of them happy, which is probably a little worrying but hey, gotta love a bit of hurt and angst.
> 
> *I should probably warn that there's a brief mention of Allison's death, because hey, this wasn't sad enough already.
> 
> This is for my loser best friend Aaron, read it and weep, dude.
> 
> This hasn't been beta read, I've only read through it a few times myself, so please let me know if there are any mistakes so I can correct them.
> 
> ~ The title is a song by Roxette ~

"We have to do something!" Derek snaps, turning around to glare at the teenager in front of him. 

Why isn't Scott trying to help? Why is he just _standing_ there whilst his best friend is dying? Does he _want_ to lose Stiles? 

"There's nothing we _can_ do, Derek," Scott says, staring back at him helplessly. 

"I can give him the bite," Derek suggests, running a hand over his tired face. He hasn't slept much at all in the past few months, it almost reminds him of the sleepless nights he spent mourning Laura’s death. Except he isn't mourning Stiles’ death.

Not yet, anyway.

_Soon_ , a voice whispers inside his head, but he ignores it. Blocks it out, pretends he doesn’t even hear it. Pretends Stiles’ death isn’t certain, isn’t something that could, and _will_ , happen at any moment.

"Still awake here, guys," Stiles croaks, opening his eyes, looking up at them wearily. "The bite wouldn't work even if I wanted it. It's too late."

"No," Derek growls, his hands curling into fists at his sides. "There has to be something we can do."

His words are met with silence as Scott hangs his head, having completely given up by now, and Stiles closes his eyes and breathes in deeply, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. He might be in pain, but seeing that Derek cares makes him sort of happy for a while at least. He'd always thought the Alpha hated him, had viewed him as a nuisance. 

"Where's my dad?" Stiles asks, clearing his dry throat.

"He's talking to the doctor," Scott replies quietly, gazing at his feet as he speaks. "Do you want me to get him?"

"Nah," Stiles says, shaking his head weakly. "Not yet. D'you think I could talk to Derek for a minute, buddy?”

“Derek?” Scott repeats, looking up, his face contorting into a frown. 

“Yeah, y’know, Derek, Der, Der-bear, the resident creeper Sourwolf-“

“He gets the point, Stiles,” Derek huffs.

Stiles flashes him a hint of a smirk before his eyes shift back to Scott. “I just wanna talk to him for a second,” he tells Scott, speaking softly. “Actually, could you go get my dad? We wont be long.”

Scott glances between the two looking slightly confused - when _isn't_ Scott confused? - before nodding his head solemnly, quietly leaving the room. He moves down the corridor in search of the Sheriff, so he doesn't accidentally overhear their conversation, despite his curiosity.

Derek and Stiles are both silent for a long time, Stiles looking down at his hands whilst Derek watches him, his hands shoved inside his jacket pockets and his face impassive. 

"Y'don't have to stay in the corner," Stiles says, blinking up at him. "It's not contagious. Promise."

Derek narrows his eyes at him. Only Stiles would attempt a joke when he's lying on his death bed. He takes the hint, though, and moves forward, sitting down in the visitor's chair next to his hospital bed.

"You don't have to be here if you don't wa-"

"Yes I do," Derek cuts in, his voice firm.

Stiles nods his head weakly, sitting up a little in his bed, wincing and sucking in a sharp breath when the movement causes him pain. Derek edges forwards in his seat, his hand hovering halfway between himself and Stiles of its own accord, ready to help before he even realises what he's doing. He slowly moves his hand back, shoves it back in his pocket as he stares back at Stiles.

"You're angry," Stiles points out, and it's such an obvious observation that Derek almost laughs.

"Angry? No. Everything is peachy," he grumbles, leaning back in his chair, his jaw tense.

"You shouldn't be," Stiles says quietly, staring over at him seriously. "The doctors did all they could, so did everyone else. It's my bad luck, that's the problem."

"It's not too late to do something," Derek tells him, his tone almost pleading, _begging_ the human boy in front of him to not give up, to not give in and let go. "If I gave you the bite-"

"We both know that wont work," Stiles argues tiredly. "I'm already dying, it wont heal me in time."

Derek narrows his eyes slightly at Stiles, who looks away tiredly, sinking further into his pillow. He isn't used to this. Isn't used to seeing Stiles so fragile and tired, pale and sickly, and frankly so lacking in positivity. He can't stand it, looking at the human in front of him and seeing no trace of the one he remembers in him. Can't stand sitting around and watching him die.

"I'll get Scott," Derek grumbles, averting his gaze from Stiles as he stands upright.

Long, thin fingers curl around his wrist, which causes him to halt. He could easily shrug him off, his hold so weak and feeble Derek could simply move ever so slightly to the right and he would let go, but he doesn't. He glances back over at Stiles, who looks up at him, large golden brown eyes pleading with him. He gives in, sinking slowly back into the uncomfortable chair. 

Stiles' lips twitch upwards into a tiny smile as he exhales shakily. "I knew you didn't hate me that much, Sourwolf," he whispers, his fingers still curled around Derek's wrist. But he doesn't complain or pull away, and Stiles makes no move to let go.

Derek doesn't even comment on the use of the stupid nickname he pretends he despises, but is actually quite fond of and no, that has absolutely nothing to do with the fact that _Stiles_ is the one who gave it to him. 

"You know," Stiles begins, swallowing thickly, his tongue darting out to moisten his dry lips. "I used to be scared of you."

"I know," Derek replies calmly, watching Stiles. He can see in his face that he's building up to something, is trying to tell him something, and for once he's patiently waiting for him to work his way up to it.

"I'm not anymore," Stiles mutters, looking up at him, appearing rather proud of himself.

“I can see that,” Derek says, his lips twitching upwards into the tiniest hint of a smile for a second. It’s gone as quickly as it appears but Stiles doesn’t miss it. He doesn’t mention it, either.

“And hey, seeing as I’m dying I might as well just say it, right?” Stiles says, laughing nervously. Derek pretends not to notice how his laughter ends in him wincing and gasping for breath. “Look Derek, I-”

“Don’t,” Derek speaks over him firmly, a steely edge to his voice. He heaves a sigh, gazing back at Stiles as he slowly shakes his head. He can’t hear it, can’t have Stiles spill his guts only to leave afterwards whilst he has to live with it for the rest of his life. Doesn’t want to hear it, because that only makes it a reality. 

“Ah, but you probably already know, don’t you, Sourwolf?” Stiles sighs, moving his hand from around Derek’s wrist to pat his cheek gently. “Of course you do.”

“I can save you,” Derek whispers quietly, eyes fixed on Stiles, pleading, his entire face more open and vulnerable than Stiles has ever seen.

Stiles is already shaking his head before Derek’s even finished his sentence, hand slipping from Derek’s cheek, opening his mouth to argue back, Derek _knows_ all he’s going to do is argue.

“Please,” Derek continues, talking over him. “Just let me try.” He watches Stiles’ face for his reaction. “For your dad,” he adds.

Stiles recoils like he’s slapped him, his eyes hardening. 

“Don’t you _dare_ use my dad against me-“

“It’s the only thing that gets a response out of you!” Derek snaps, hating himself intensely for spending what could be some of Stiles’ last moments _yelling_ at him, but he carries on. He needs to get it into his head that being stubborn is _stupid_. “He’s the only one you’ll even _consider_ trying to live for!”

Stiles’ eyes soften ever so slightly, understanding washing over him.

“Derek,” he sighs, closing his eyes. He shakes his head, takes a deep breath, and when he reopens his eyes they’re watery. “He isn’t the only one I’d want to live for. You know that. You _know_ that, don’t be an idiot.”

“Then let me _help_ you,” Derek hisses, swallowing around the lump forming in his throat. “Let me _try_.”

Stiles smiles wearily at him, lifts his hand to Derek’s cheek again and leaves it there. He brushes his thumb across Derek’s cheekbone, his lips twitching up further. “You need a shave.”

Derek bows his head, lets Stiles’ hand fall to rest limply at his side, swallowing again around the growing lump in his throat. He knows Stiles, he _knows_ him. Which means he knows what Stiles is telling him: _you can’t change my mind. I’m not going to argue anymore_.

Stiles lets out a laugh, and Derek’s head shoots straight back up.

“What’s so funny?” He asks, frowning slightly.

“You and me,” Stiles grins, laughing quietly.

Derek quirks an eyebrow upwards, waiting him out.

“Figures that we’d be arguing about something even when I’m dying, huh?”

Derek scoffs, rolling his eyes. “Only you would find that funny, Stiles.”

“What can I say? I’m a master of comedy,” Stiles says, wiggling his eyebrows at him.

Frankly, he’s being ridiculous. The whole thing is ridiculous. It’s so normal and so _Stiles_ that it makes Derek’s chest ache. 

“You’re insufferable.”

“Oh come on, y’love me really,” Stiles teases, wiggling his eyebrows again in a ridiculous manner.

Derek pauses briefly, staring at him. “Yeah,” he finally says.

Stiles crows quietly in victory, trying to lighten the mood, and even as his eyes droop slightly he maintains a comforting smile.

“Y’know, this isn’t actually that bad.”

Derek scoffs, trying to go for amused but just sounding like he’s close to tears. Which he isn’t. At all.

“Hey Der,” Stiles murmurs, eyes shutting.

Derek waits for a matter of seconds before shaking him, perhaps a little too roughly judging by Stiles’ quiet groan of protest as he blinks his eyes open.

“What, Stiles?” Derek asks, a sense of urgency in his voice.

Suddenly an image of Stiles dying mid-sentence plagues him, of him having to watch the light leave those golden brown eyes never knowing what he was about to say. The idea of it is horrifying. For once in his life, Derek doesn’t want Stiles to shut up.

Stiles smiles softly at him, the picture of calm, content and relaxed. Derek knows better though, he can smell the fear and nervousness on Stiles.

“Do you think I’ll see my mom?”

Derek swallows thickly, staring dumbly back at him for a second. How does he answer that? He hasn’t died, somehow, so he wouldn’t know. This isn’t about him though, it’s about Stiles. He’s willing to tell him whatever he has to in order to make this as easy as possible for Stiles, even if it means pretending he believes in something he isn’t quite sure of.

“Yeah,” he manages out, nodding his head, ducking so Stiles can’t see his face. “Yeah, maybe.”

Damn it he hopes Scott hurries up. Where the hell is he? He’s torn between staying with Stiles and going to find the Sheriff himself, wanting to be sure son and father get to say a proper goodbye. He’s heard the story of Stiles’ mother’s death, how the Sheriff selflessly chose to stay with a dying girl until her last moments and arrived too late. He remembers his own family, despite not wanting to, remembers never being able to say goodbye, or that he’s sorry, _so sorry_ they burned for his mistakes.

Derek knows how it feels to regret something like that, even years later. The guilt is all consuming. The Sheriff is a good man, he doesn’t deserve to miss out on a proper goodbye with his only son as well.

Stiles shifts on the hospital bed and winces, his heartbeat slowing minimally. In the end, the fear of leaving Stiles to die alone wins out over the urge to find the Sheriff himself. He takes a deep breath and lifts his head, grip tightening on Stiles’ hand, hoping Scott hurries the heck up.

“Keep your eyes open, Stiles,” Derek tells him, his voice coming out a little harder than he intended in his attempt to prevent it from shaking.

“I’m tired,” Stiles whines, attempting a pout, but even that seems to zap too much of his energy and he gives up partway through.

“Your father is on his way,” Derek reminds him, squeezing his hand. “Scott too.”

A slow, lazy smile overtakes Stiles’ face. “Scotty boy,” he says softly, a peel of laughter escaping him that ends in a cough. He clears his throat. “I wanna see my dad.”

“Then you need to stay _awake_.”

“Right,” Stiles nods, blinking his eyes open, shifting himself a little higher up in his bed. Determination shines in his tired eyes. “Right. Gotta stay awake. Gotta remain conscious for good ol’ daddy-o and Scotty boy."

Derek almost smiles, glad to see a glimpse of the sarcastic teenager he remembers, but settles for shaking his head and giving Stiles an eye roll.

“Thanks for being here,” Stiles says quietly, looking slightly embarrassed. “I know it isn’t easy for anyone.”

Derek looks down, scowling at his hands. He takes a deep breath, forcing something close to a smile onto his face. 

“We’ll be here as long as you need us.”

** Translation: We’ll be here until the end. You wont be alone. **

They both know it, too. 

Stiles smiles at him, making a ridiculous cooing noise as he pats at Derek’s hair and face. 

“You’re really just a complete teddy bear underneath that ‘I’m going to rip you to shreds if you so much as look at me’ exterior, aren’t ya, Sourwolf?” 

Derek swats his hand away from his face, trapping it between his own to prevent him doing it again, sending him a glare that has absolutely no heat behind it. 

“And you’re an insufferable pain the ass.”

Stiles grins widely at him, eyes sparkling with glee and so much _life_ that it’s almost possible to forget where they are and why. Almost. He looks so beautiful, so vibrant, so _alive_ , and it’s completely overwhelming. Derek opens his mouth without thinking, numerous confessions on the tip of his tongue that he’ll regret voicing later, but right now he can’t find it in himself to care.

The door opening startles them both, Derek snaps his mouth shut, his face hardening, and jumps up out of his seat, Stiles’ hand slipping from his. Stiles protests weakly, so faintly that Derek’s sure it’s only picked up by werewolf ears, but Derek moves further away from the bed, letting Sheriff Stilinski move closer to his son.

His dying son.

Derek wonders briefly if the Sheriff is thinking of his wife now, how he saw her in a similar state, faced with the reality of losing her forever, only to return to the same scenario with his son.

Derek decides he doesn’t want to know.

Life is cruel, he thinks. Taking Stiles, an energetic, sarcastic teen, full of life and brimming with potential, brave and loyal to a fault, when there are people like him who death refuses to take, even though they _beg_ to be taken, and they try their hardest to destroy themselves. People like him who are ready to die. Want to die. Who _deserve_ it. The Sheriff doesn’t deserve to lose his last remaining family member. Scott doesn’t deserve to lose his best friend, especially after having the one true love of his life die in his arms.

Derek would give anything to trade places with Stiles. To end all of their unjust suffering.

“Hey dad,” Stiles smiles, reaching for him when he seats himself in the chair Derek previously occupied. He grabs his father’s hand, holding onto it as tightly as he can, trying to comfort the grief-stricken man.

“How are you feeling, Stiles?” The Sheriff asks, voice tired and devoid of hope. 

Derek can see it in his face, the haunted look in his eyes, he’s too pale and thinner than Derek’s ever seen him, almost resembling his son. Derek knows that look, knows that feeling far too well, can see the Sheriff has already given up on everything.

“I’m fine, dad.”

The Sheriff stares at him sternly until Stiles sighs and looks down, giving in to his silent demands.

“I’m okay, really. Just a little tired.”

“Any pain?”

Stiles shrugged, grimacing slightly at the movement. “A little.”

The Sheriff sighed, nodding slowly. “I’ll get a nurse, see if they can do something for you.”

“No!” Stiles cries, clinging to his father’s hand. “No,” he repeats more quietly, shaking his head, “I want you to stay here. Please?”

The Sheriff nods again, eyes swimming with unshed tears that he blinks away as subtly as possible. “I’m not going anywhere, Stiles.”

Stiles sags with relief, looking absolutely exhausted. The Sheriff glances over at Scott, who seems to understand what he’s trying to convey.

“I’ll go get my mom,” he announces quietly, slipping back out the door.

Derek doesn’t say a word in the short amount of time it takes Scott to return, Mrs McCall close behind. The Sheriff doesn’t talk either, settling for simply watching his son as he tries to control his breathing, eyes closed.

Derek hears the stutter in Mrs McCall’s heartbeat, can smell the spike of fear, when her eyes settle on Stiles. 

She knows. They _all_ know.

“I’m tired, dad,” Stiles says quietly, opening his eyes partially. “I’m really tired.”

Mrs McCall covers her mouth with her hand, hesitantly walking a little closer to the bed as tears fall silently down her face, her other arm around Scott, who is crying freely.

“It’s okay son,” the Sheriff says, his voice breaking. He clears his throat, blinking away the tears. “It’s okay. You… You can go to sleep now, Stiles.”

In the end Derek can’t take it, can’t stand the quiet sobs of the three people crowded round Stiles’ bed, can’t stand there watching the life slowly fading away from the brilliantly golden brown eyes of the man he l- _No_.

Derek turns on his heel and exits the room, tells himself it's only because he's had his time with Stiles and now he wants to give them theirs, but really he's a coward. Too scared to watch Stiles die, to face a world in which he no longer exists. Selfishly, he chooses a few more precious seconds, maybe even minutes, of ignorance.

He collapses into one of the chairs down the corridor, still able to hear the voices coming from Stiles' room albeit more quietly. One thing sticks out more than everything else, something he's become attuned to; Stiles' heartbeat. Normally erratic and fast, it's almost unrecognisable now as it slows even further. He tunes out the voices, tunes out the other sounds echoing throughout the hospital, tries desperately to tune out Stiles' heartbeat. 

He tries, but fails to tune out the stuttering beat, fighting to continue going, until there's silence.

Complete and utter silence.

Derek can't hear anything, can't hear the people bustling around him, the shouts of doctors as a woman is rushed into surgery, the sniffles of worried family members occupying the waiting room, the loud sobbing now clearly coming from Stiles' room for everyone to hear; nothing.

Derek stares at his hands and hears nothing. Says nothing. Does nothing. 

He doesn't hear the footsteps approaching, jumps when a hand touches his shoulder. He swallows and looks up, Melissa's red, swollen eyes and tear stained face coming into view. Her mouth is moving, forming words that seem muffled and far away, all he can make out is a 'gone' and 'sorry'. 

He's out of his seat before he's even aware of wanting to stand, moving through the halls without glancing back at Melissa, without glancing back at that damn hospital room. By the time he nears the entrance he's running, sounds slowly returning to him all at once. He doesn't stop, doesn't slow down, as he shoves through the door, sprinting through the parking lot. He doesn't know where he's going, doesn't care. Anywhere. Anywhere is better than here.

He runs, letting his feet carry him as he tries to keep his mind empty, to think of nothing.

After a while he slows, finally pausing to pay attention to his surroundings. He's in the preserve, he realises, which isn't all that surprising. Even now, it'll always be his home far more than anywhere else could be.

He notices that he's not far away from the charred shell of his childhood home, and it takes him longer than it should to realise where he is.

Everything comes flooding back all at once, he can almost _see_ Stiles and Scott in front of him, stuttering over an explanation as to why they're on private property. 

Stiles, with his buzz cut, avoiding eye contact. Stiles, his golden eyes wide, with the smallest hint of mischief in them. Stiles, his nose turning slightly red from the cold.

_Stiles_.

Derek breaks, falling to the forest floor as a howl rips its way out of him, filled with agony and loss. He claws at his own skin, fangs protruding from his mouth, eyes a shocking blue as the wolf takes over, trying to claw up and out of him, to escape from the agony. 

Derek let's go. He gives in to the animal instincts, shifting into his full wolf form, something he's only managed a handful of times since the first time is suddenly second nature. He howls, louder and longer than the first, and takes off running again.

All he can hear in his head is his name. 

_Stiles, Stiles, Stiles, Stiles_. 

The leaves crunching underneath his paws seem to speak to him, crying _Stiles, Stiles, Stiles, Stiles_. 

Like a voice, the wind whispers in his ears, so quietly it's barely there but he can still hear it, _Stiles, Stiles, Stiles, Stiles_. 

His paws thud against the floor, rhythmically like the beat of a drum to the tune of his name, _Stiles, Stiles, Stiles, Stiles_. 

The entire preserve carrying reminders of the boy he couldn't save, another person who _meant something_ that he had to watch die.

He's everywhere, he's all around him, Derek can't escape, can't breathe.

_Stiles, Stiles, Stiles, Stiles_.

Derek just wants to forget.

**Author's Note:**

> Would it help if I said I'm sorry, again? Probably not. 
> 
> Just on the off chance this has triggered anyone, or this is something someone has gone through or witnessed someone else go through, first of all I'm sorry, and secondly, I'm more than happy to lend an ear to anyone who needs it.


End file.
